


I've Got You

by Marz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, POV Sheriff Stilinski, POV Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 00:18:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11955753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marz/pseuds/Marz
Summary: Stiles is Derek's safe place while mourning his family.*Stiles was in bed, yes, but not asleep. He was wide awake and slowly running a hand down the back of the person curled up in his arms. His cheek was resting lightly on the back of the person’s head, his face set in a sad frown.As soon as the Sheriff identified the other person as Derek Hale, all the other pieces fell into place in his head and he felt a pang of sympathy for the young man. The way his body was curled into his son’s, his head buried in Stiles’ chest, his visible hand grasping Stiles’ shirt in a white-knuckled grip, all spoke of someone in the throes of grief, deeply in need of the comfort of another person. The Sheriff knew that anniversaries were often the hardest days to get through.





	I've Got You

The Sheriff breathed a slight sigh of relief as he hung up his holster and put his gun safely away. Hopefully he wouldn’t be called in for anything until his next shift tomorrow. He was looking forward to an evening of warm food, bad television, and spending time with his son.

Knowing he was a bit early and that Stiles was probably neck deep in Wikipedia and therefore unaware of anything in the outside world, he decided to go let his son know he was home.

He frowned as he approached Stiles’ room. There was no quiet mumbling, no clacking of computer keys, no sounds of Stiles drumming his fingers on his desk. He would have thought that the teen wasn’t home if he hadn’t seen his shoes at his usual place by the front door.

Trying to be silent in case Stiles was sleeping, he peeked his head around his son’s bedroom door. He blinked at what he saw, the unusual sight giving him pause.

Stiles was in bed, yes, but not asleep. He was wide awake and slowly running a hand down the back of the person curled up in his arms. His cheek was resting lightly on the back of the person’s head, his face set in a sad frown.

As soon as the Sheriff identified the other person as Derek Hale, all the other pieces fell into place in his head and he felt a pang of sympathy for the young man. The way his body was curled into his son’s, his head buried in Stiles’ chest, his visible hand grasping Stiles’ shirt in a white-knuckled grip, all spoke of someone in the throes of grief, deeply in need of the comfort of another person. The Sheriff knew that anniversaries were often the hardest days to get through.

He stepped into his son’s room after a moment to let him know he was there. The stiffening of both figures on the bed told him when they became aware of his presence. Stiles raised his head to look at him, lifting his chin in silent challenge, unconsciously tightening his grip on Derek as if he would be taken away. 

Instead of rising to that challenge, he simply gave a small, sad smile, and came further into the room. He rested a hand on Derek’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, then bent to place a long kiss on Stiles’ forehead. After a moment Derek looked up, eyes red and wet, uncomprehending of why he wasn’t being told to leave.

The Sheriff gave him that same, sad smile and said, “It’s okay, son. Stay as long as you need to.”

Derek’s eyes filled with tears and he immediately ducked to hide his head in Stiles’ chest once again.

Without conscious thought on the part of either Stilinski, Stiles moved to hold him closer and the Sheriff ran his hand once soothingly through Derek’s hair.

He let his hand rest on the back of Derek’s head for a few moments, hoping he found at least a little comfort in the touch. Then he turned his attention to Stiles. “Take as long as you need,” he said quietly. “Then, if you guys feel like it, we can order something for dinner. Okay?”

Stiles smiled and nodded, gratitude shining through his eyes. “Thanks, dad.”

The Sheriff nodded in return, then turned and left the room, knowing Stiles had everything in hand.

***

Stiles watched as his father left them alone again, then turned back to Derek. He resumed his slow stroking of the werewolf’s back, resting his cheek once more on Derek’s head. He resisted the urge to sigh, knowing Derek would take it as impatience instead of the expression of sadness it would be meant as. 

He had not been surprised when he came home from school to the older man in his bedroom. What did surprise him was that Derek had been lying on his bed, curled in on himself, staring at the wall. He hadn’t seemed to notice when Stiles arrived, which had set off Stiles’ inner alarms.

After setting his backpack aside, he had approached the bed cautiously, calling Derek’s name softly in an effort not to startle him. When Derek had done nothing but blink and slowly slide his gaze over to him, Stiles had come to the conclusion that he simply didn’t have the energy to become startled.

“Hey, Derek. You okay?” He had known it was a silly question, but he hadn’t known what else to say.

The second surprise had come when Derek blinked at him again, then slowly shook his head. As Stiles watched, Derek’s eyes had welled with tears, as if admitting he wasn’t all right was all that was needed to break his composure.

Immediately Stiles had moved closer, his instinct to comfort overriding any lingering fear of the other man. He hadn’t let himself think when he sat next to Derek and opened his arms in an invitation. He didn’t think he would ever forget the look on Derek’s face as he did so, waiting for his response. 

Derek had just looked at him with wide eyes that were quickly filling up with tears. He had looked like someone had cracked him open, his expression something more vulnerable than anything Stiles had ever seen, unbelieving that someone would offer him comfort like that.

Stiles hadn’t moved, keeping his arms open. “It’s okay,” he had whispered encouragingly. 

Derek had looked at him with that stricken expression a moment longer before he had moved into Stiles’ embrace with a small, wounded noise that cut into Stiles’ heart. 

As soon as he was wrapped up in Stiles’ arms, he had begun to shake. That was when Stiles had taken up running his hand up and down Derek’s back. He could tell Derek had still been fighting to keep himself together.

“It’s okay,” he had said again. “You’re safe here, you can let go. I’ve got you.” Derek had become still, even ceasing to breathe. “It’s okay, Derek. I promise, I’ve got you.”

The first sob had burst out of him, as if Derek just couldn’t hold it in any longer. He probably couldn’t, Stiles had reasoned. When was the last time Derek had had someone to comfort him? When was the last time he had even felt safe enough to grieve?

Stiles had just held on tight, keeping up his soothing litany of words. He had held Derek through his first torrent of tears, then through his second, never letting go. He hadn’t even been aware of the passing of time until his father had peeked his head into his room, what must have been several hours later.

Now, filled with gratitude for his father’s kindness and understanding, he turned his attention back to the werewolf in his arms, aware he was crying once more.

After several more minutes of silent tears, Derek managed to croak out, “I’m sorry.”

Taken aback not only by Derek finally speaking, but by his words, Stiles paused. “For what?” he asked. “You haven’t done anything you have to apologize for.”

Derek shook his head. “I have,” he insisted.

“I really don’t think so, but for argument’s sake, I’ll bite. What did you do?” Stiles attempted to look down so he could see Derek’s face, but the werewolf wouldn’t raise his head from Stiles’ chest.

The older man took a moment to take in a shuddering breath. “I’m jealous.”

Stiles waited for more, but finally had to prompt him to continue. “Okay. Of what?”

“Of you.” Derek’s voice was quiet, like he was telling Stiles his darkest secret. Knowing Derek and how he private he is, Stiles supposed he very well might be.

He took a minute to think that over, but was unable to figure out what Derek meant. “I’m sorry, I still don’t follow,” he admitted, shaking his head.

Derek huffed in frustration at having to fully explain himself, pushing away from Stiles to sit up and running a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t be jealous, I should be happy for you! I should be happy that you have a father, but I can’t be.” His voice broke. “All I can think is that you have a father, an amazing father who loves you and I don’t,” he managed to choke out, a stray tear falling down his cheek.

Stiles’ heart broke a little bit more for the man sitting in front of him. “Derek,” he sighed, giving in to the urge to wipe that tear away. “You still have nothing to apologize for.”

“But--”

Stiles shook his head, cutting him off. “No, let me finish.” He looked down for a moment to think of what he wanted to say before looking Derek in the eye. “I know exactly how you’re feeling. For a while after my mom died I hated everyone. I couldn’t face my classmates, I couldn’t even face Scott because every time I looked at them, all I could think of was that they all still had their mothers and they didn’t even know how special that was. They had no idea how they were taking every day for granted. It drove me crazy. Even now I still can’t handle Mother’s Day.” He shrugged in a forced display of nonchalance. “So I get it. Feeling like that doesn’t make you a bad person, it’s completely normal. I understand and I’m not mad,” he said firmly, making sure he was looking at Derek squarely in the eye.

Derek searched his face, most likely gauging his sincerity, before deflating in relief. After a moment he made another noise of frustration and wiped his eyes where tears were continuing to fall. “I can’t stop crying.”

“Grief comes in its own time at its own pace,” he said simply. “Unfortunately we don’t get to decide.”

Derek gave a watery smile. “When did you get so wise?”

“Therapy after my mom died,” he replied with a quirk of his lips. 

“I feel like I’ve been crying all day,” he said grumpily.

Stiles looked at him steadily. “If that’s what you need, then that’s okay. When was the last time you were able to really grieve for your family?”

“W-with Laura,” Derek answered on a hitching breath that heralded fresh tears.

“And have you been able to grieve for Laura since you’ve been back?” Letting out a small sob, Derek shook his head. Stiles placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “Derek, you have lost so much in such a short time. Coming to terms with that takes time. Hell, I only lost my mom and I’m still working through that. There is no timeline, no time limit. It’s whatever you need for however long you need it. If you need to cry all day, then I’ll stay right here with you as long as you want me. Okay?”

Derek just looked at him in bewilderment. “Why?”

“Why did you come here?” Stiles countered.

“You understand. I...trust you,” he said, sounding almost surprised.

Stiles nodded. “Good, I trust you, too. And I’m glad you came here, I wouldn’t have wanted you to go through this alone. We’re friends, aren’t we?” he added at Derek’s quizzical expression. After a moment he nodded in agreement. “Good. Now come back here, you need more hugs.”

The laugh that came unbidden from Derek’s lips from that rapidly turned into sobs and he fell back into Stiles’ embrace. He held onto Stiles tightly, trusting Stiles to hold him together when he felt like he was falling apart.

Stiles held him through the newest round of tears, hoping they were as cleansing as he thought they might finally be. He had meant what he said, he would be there as long as Derek needed him to be. 

It was roughly an hour later when Derek felt together enough to brave leaving what had become his safe haven and head downstairs for food. Stiles left him to clean up a bit in the bathroom while he went downstairs to find his father, who was sitting in his armchair watching a Mets game on TV.

The Sheriff looked up as he walked in. “He okay?”

Stiles shot a glance toward the bathroom and smiled. “Yeah, I think he will be.”

**Author's Note:**

> Even though this is mostly about Derek, I relate very closely with Stiles in this. My mother has a brain tumor and I'm looking at less than two years left with her. I've experienced, am still experiencing, envy of my friends who still have their parents. Having already lost my father, I'm looking at the rest of my life without my parents.
> 
> I guess what I want people to take away from this is that, like Stiles told Derek, there is no timeline for grief. There is no right or wrong way to feel. Be patient and be kind to yourself. 
> 
> *  
> This fic is based on a combination of two pictures that I found on Tumblr.
> 
> Pic one: virtualcarrot.tumblr.com/image/68307788124
> 
> Pic two: https://68.media.tumblr.com/a2ec87c5ddfd7fd7bff40c64547e0f8e/tumblr_othwne0F7O1r6gf39o2_500.png
> 
> Both of these pictures are absolutely wonderful, and I can never get enough of Stiles hugging Derek.


End file.
